


When The Snakes Slither By

by TransManWillGraham (BisexualHannibalLecter)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Hannibal Lecter, Bisexual Will Graham, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Daddy Issues, Episode: s01e01 Apéritif, Flashbacks, Flirting, Gen, M/M, Misgendering, Missing Scene, Mommy Issues, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Trans Male Character, Trans Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22808953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BisexualHannibalLecter/pseuds/TransManWillGraham
Summary: Will finds a picture while doing some spring cleaning. Hannibal finds that same picture six months later, which sparks a very uncomfortable conversation.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 361





	When The Snakes Slither By

**Author's Note:**

> Misgendering tag is for some unintentional misgendering near the end. Title comes from a piece of dialogue in the pilot episode.

Will isn’t being nostalgic on purpose. He’s supposed to be cleaning, decluttering his life, because he doesn’t like things feeling too messy and disorganized. Papers being in odd places and fishing lure materials being strewn about the house is a bit messy, but in a way that Will can accept. The mess in his closet, his pantry, his desk, and the space under his bed, however, is nowhere near acceptable, though probably more organized in its own strange way.

But Will is in a cleaning mood today, so he cleans. He pulls everything out from under his bed first, and begins to organize what he finds. He then continues over to his closet, pulling everything out of it except his clothes and shoes. Those can be worried about at a later date. 

As he begins organizing what he pulled from his closet, he comes across a small suitcase stuck at the back, hidden under boxes and spiderwebs. Will cringes as he feels the spiderweb while pulling the bag out of the closet, hoping there aren’t any spiders on or in his old suitcase. He lays it on the ground, coughing as dust flies into the air. He’s still coughing as he unzips the bag. He doesn’t have to wonder what’s inside.

The inside of the suitcase is almost bare, save for a few photographs, some documents, a couple of old books, and several Louisiana postcards. An invisible force tugs roughly at his heartstrings, and he considers the idea that perhaps pulling this suitcase out of the closet was a bad idea. He disregards the thought, along with the way his eyes burn and his chest aches, and pulls the contents from the suitcase. 

He reaches for the postcards first. He slips them into the top drawer of his bedside table, but not before pressing a kiss to the top of the stack. He tries not to think about how much he misses his old home.

He goes for the documents next, old copies of his personal information, and slips them into the second drawer of his bedside table. He then examines the two books, one from his father and one from his mother. 

_From_ wasn’t exactly the right word. The book had belonged to Will’s mother, but it was yet another thing she’d left behind when he was young. His father had kept it and given it to him as a parting gift when he left home.

* * *

 _“What’s this?” Will asks, unwrapping another box amongst his graduation presents. He quickly realizes it’s a book, and his eyes light up when he catches sight of the cover. “_ A Brief History of Time _,” he reads aloud, “by Stephen Hawking. Doesn’t exactly seem like your speed, dad. Or mine.”_

_Will’s dad laughs. “I didn’t think so either, but…”_

_Will raises an eyebrow. “But what?”_

_Will’s dad seems reluctant to respond, and upon his reply Will realizes why. “It was your mother’s.”_

_Will can’t keep his expression from twisting unpleasantly. He lays the book on the table._

_“She was interested in—”_

_“I don’t care,” Will interrupts. “I don’t care about what she did, or what she liked, or anything else about her. She’s gone.”_

_Will’s dad frowns, and Will is almost afraid he’ll start yelling. Nowadays, it’s a toss-up between dropping the subject or screaming at Will._

_“Sweetheart,” he begins, but Will isn’t having it._

_“I don’t want to talk about her.” Will forces a smile. “This is a good day. Let’s keep having a good day.” He picks up another present, a small, thin square. “I wonder,” he says, “could this be the_ Best of Queen _album I asked for?”_

_Will’s dad smiles, and Will’s own smile becomes genuine._

* * *

Will sets the book aside and picks up the photographs, flipping the lid of the suitcase closed and zipping it shut. He shuffles through the pictures, all of them old, until he comes across one in particular; it's the last picture Will had taken of himself before he left Louisiana for good. Will stares at the photograph, and almost feels as if he’s looking at a stranger. He sighs, then looks over at the copy of _A Brief History of Time._ He picks up the book, tucking the photo between two random pages.

 _There,_ he thinks. _She abandoned both of you. You ought to stick together._

Will moves to stand, groaning at the feeling in his legs. He really should be sitting in a chair, or on a pillow. He makes his way into the living room, his dogs quickly swarming him. He ignores them for a moment to find a place on his bookshelf for the book, eventually sliding it between two old textbooks on the second shelf. 

He turns his attention to his dogs, trying to give them equal amounts of attention. Upon glancing at the clock, he decides it’s time for a break, and takes them all outside. He takes a deep breath once he steps outside, and tries to calm himself.

Will sits on the edge of his porch, watching his dogs as they run around the yard. He smiles to himself, and realizes how much happier he is here than he ever was in Baton Rouge. He feels safe in Wolf Trap. He feels free. 

No one has to know who he was nearly twenty years ago. No one knows him as anything other than Will Graham. That thought brings him more contentment than any bit of pleasant, familial nostalgia.

He feels as though it could last the rest of his life.

* * *

Fate decided that Will’s contentment had a shelf life of about six months, as it was that much time later he found himself opening the front door and welcoming Hannibal Lecter into his home. They had only recently met, as Jack had invited him to help work the Minnesota Shrike case.

“Where’s Crawford?” Will asks, staring at Hannibal.

Hannibal smiles softly at him. “Deposed in court,” he replies. “The adventure will be yours and mine today. May I come in?”

Will steps aside to welcome Hannibal in, and being presented with food from the man dispels any worries or reservations he may have had. They sit at his small dining table and eat, making causal but incredibly odd conversation. Will decides to stop trying to decipher the meaning behind Hannibal’s every word after the other man calls him a mongoose.

“I’m going to change,” he says, getting up from the table. “I shouldn’t be too long. Make yourself at home. My dogs may be a bit skittish around you, but they don’t bite unless provoked.”

Hannibal nods. “I’m not worried. They seem well-trained.”

Will ignores what he assumes is Hannibal’s attempt to stroke his ego and slips into his bedroom. He’s ready to go about ten minutes later, giving himself a once-over in the mirror before opening his bedroom door. His heart stops when he finds the man standing next to his bookshelf with a copy of _A Brief History of Time_ in his hands. He seems to be settled somewhere in the middle of the book, and Will breaks out into a cold sweat.

_Fuck._

“I didn’t take you for a man interested in cosmology, Will,” Hannibal says. He looks up and takes in Will’s expression. “My apologies if you didn’t want me touching your books. You said to make myself at home, and I got a bit curious.”

Will swallows and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. And I’m not. Interested in cosmology, I mean. The book belonged to my mother.”

Hannibal nods and closes the book, placing it back on the shelf. Internally, Will sags in relief, thanking the universe that Hannibal didn’t see the picture hidden inside the book.

“Are you ready to head out?” Will asks, trying to seem as calm as possible.

“Actually, there is one more thing I’d like to address.” Hannibal holds something up.

Will curses. It’s the picture.

“You never mentioned having a sister,” Hannibal says.

“I don’t,” Will replies immediately. He wishes he hadn’t been so quick to correct Hannibal. Claiming the photograph was of his sister would have been the perfect cover. But he isn’t fond of lies or misinformation.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow. He turns the picture around so that he can look at it again, then he looks up at Will. “Your mother, then,” Hannibal guesses. “This photograph isn’t too old, though. You look a lot like her, Will.”

Will frowns. _That’s because the picture is of me, asshole,_ he thinks. But it’s a him from a long time ago. A him with longer hair, and a softer jaw, and a mouth colored bright pink with lipstick. The person in the picture feels more to Will like his sister than his eighteen-year-old self.

Will exhales, and he lets the words rush out of his mouth with the air. “I look like her, because I _am_ her. _Him_ ,” he corrects. “That picture is of me, Dr. Lecter. Nearly twenty years ago, just before I left home.” He snatches the photo out of Hannibal’s hand and shoves it in his jacket pocket.

“I see,” Hannibal replies softly. “I am sorry for upsetting you Will, I did not know—”

“That’s kind of the point,” Will interrupts. “I didn’t want anyone in my life here in Wolf Trap or in Baltimore knowing. Jack doesn’t know, Alana doesn’t know, none of my students or colleagues know— and it was supposed to stay that way.”

“And it will,” Hannibal says, setting a hand on Will’s shoulder. “You have my word. I won’t even mention it to you unless you broach the subject.”

Will shrugs Hannibal’s hand off his shoulder. “Like you’re not _dying_ to psychoanalyze me after this _shocking revelation_ ,” he says. “Psychiatrists already talk about me, Hannibal, I’m well aware of that. I’m sure you’d love the attention that would come with publishing a paper profiling me with the exclusive knowledge of me being transgender.”

“I am indeed, as you put it, dying to psychoanalyze you. Although, you being transgender has nothing to do with it. You being a man does make me a bit more interested, though, I’ll admit.”

Will blinks. “Are… are you gay?” he asks.

“Bisexual,” Hannibal corrects. “With a preference for men. But I’ll spare you any more detail.” Hannibal smiles at him teasingly. “I know you don’t find me interesting, so I won’t bore you.”

Will blushes and brushes past him, pushing the front door open. “We should get going,” he says. “Murders to solve, and all that. I’ll drive.”

Hannibal laughs and follows him out the door. “You’re incredibly articulate when your guard is down.”

“Bite me,” Will replies, more out of reflex than anything else.

Hannibal hums, the words _don’t tempt me_ dying on his tongue. Another time, perhaps. He settles himself into the passenger seat of Will's car and buckles his seat belt. 

Will takes a moment to consider his words as he slides into the car. He waits until he’s concentrated on backing out of the driveway to say, “I’m bisexual, too. In case you were wondering; for your profile or whatever.”

“Are you inviting flirtatious comments, Will?” Hannibal asks, expression smug.

Will rolls his eyes. “I am _inviting_ solidarity and friendship,” he replies. “If you try and make a move, or say anything too…” Will waves his hand. “You know,” he says. “I won’t hesitate to tell you to go fuck yourself, and I won’t hesitate to tell Jack to find a new profiler to bother.”

Hannibal’s expression softens. “I was only joking, Will. I won’t try and cross any boundaries with you. I wouldn’t dream of doing something so unorthodox.”

Will smiles, feeling reassured. “I may allow _some_ flirting. Tread lightly.”

“Noted,” Hannibal replies. They ride in comfortable silence for some time until Hannibal asks, “Do you still not find me interesting?”

Will laughs, glancing at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye. “Not in the least, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal just continues to smile. 

_You will._

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story please leave a kudos! Comments are super appreciated! If you want to find/follow/friend me on other platforms, here are my usernames! Don’t be shy! 
> 
> @bisexywill on Tumblr (Main Blog)  
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> @bisexywill on Twitter (Writing Updates & Stuff)  
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